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8:58 a.m. - 2004-08-05
Bacon, Eggs, and Crack Whores
Bacon, Eggs, and Crack Whores

One Sunday morning, my best friend/running buddy (BFRB) and I were making our biweekly trek to the Laundromat. Once our clothes were in the washer, we decided to go get breakfast. Since Denny's was located relatively close, we elected to go there. Big mistake. Right up there with Napoleon invading Russia.

Our first clue that this would not be a quick and easy egg-munching fest presented itself immediately. The cashier and another employee were attempting to put new paper in the register. The other employee made eye contact, but chose to ignore us. The cashier was too busy figuring out where the paper went to notice we were there. This went on for about 3 minutes. Finally, these two rocket scientists managed to complete the operation, and the cashier actually said "hi" and "we'll be with you in a moment." While this was polite, it made no sense, given that we were the only customers anywhere in the vicinity. After about 5 more minutes, they finally decide to get us a table.

We were sitting in the smoking section (and spare me the lung cancer lectures, okay?), and there was only one other table filled. When our waitress finally decided to grace us with her presence, we recognized her as the other employee fixing the cash register. This was the second indicator of a truly fucked breakfast experience. It was clear, once we had the opportunity to get a good look, that she would much rather be smoking crack and giving $10 blow jobs than working this morning. She took our drink orders, and we asked for an ashtray. She introduced herself as "Jackie," even though her name tag said "Jacquetta," and advised us to "hollah Jackie" if we needed anything.

Clearly, even though we could see the kitchen and drink machines from where we were, it took a REALLY long time to walk back there and locate our beverages. We would have "hollah-ed Jackie," but there was no sign of the bitch. She must have been back in the kitchen seeing if she could light her crack pipe off the grill. Finally, after another 10 minutes, she brings our drinks…but still no ashtray. (We end up flagging down another employee, who brings us an ashtray promptly.) After the drinks are served and she at last takes our order, she proceeds to hold a 20 minute conversation with the only other people in the section about other job prospects. At this point, we really got worried. She didn't go to the kitchen to check on our food, and, in fact, didn't look at us. Let me mention that what we ordered was stuff like eggs, bacon, and toast, none of which take more than 10 minutes to cook.

When she FINALLY ceases to converse with the folks, does she go to check on food? Oh, no. She bustles around the section, gives us placemats and silverware, sashays around with the coffeepot, and finally goes back to the kitchen.

At this point, I must mention that another couple had entered our section, and were sitting at the bar. They ordered their food shortly AFTER we did. When Ms. Crack Ho finally decided to saunter back to the kitchen (the crack must have worn off), she brought them THEIR food FIRST. By the time she deigned to grace us with her presence, a good 40 minutes had passed since we ordered, and our food was slightly chilly. However, by now, we were ravenous. (Remember, too, that our clothes were at the Laundromat, waiting to be dried….assuming no one stole them or dumped them on the floor because they needed the washer. Furthermore, we both had plans later in the day, and said plans required laundry to be done by 1:30…and it was noon. We got there at 11.)

After shoveling our food down our throats like Ethiopians at a smorgasboard, we grab the check (which was not split, nor did our crack ho ask) and head for the register. Of course, by this time, there were a whole bunch of churchgoing folk waiting for tables, and more waiting to pay. After ANOTHER 10 minutes, we get to the register, and ask the cashier to split the check….the same cashier who didn't know how to change the paper. She goes to get her manager, who, despite bathing recently, is clearly stupid white trash. I pay first, and tell her I don't want to leave a tip on my card, thanks. She gives me a shitty look, but doesn't say anything. BFRB pays second, and also says she doesn't want to leave a tip. At this point, the white trash bitch starts in on her about how they work for tips. BFRB points out that the service sucked. Instead of sympathizing, the manager says that we should have asked for her to tell her about this. Who the fuck were we supposed to ask? Our waitress was busy smoking crack and looking for a new job, the cashier was clueless, and there was no one else around. BFRB reiterates that she's not leaving a tip, and the manager goes off on her about how they are busy and they work for $2.13 an hour and how she clearly doesn't understand their plight. BFRB says, "I waited tables in college." However, the white trash at the register ignores this completely and keeps going on about how she doesn't understand. Rather than arguing further with someone who has the IQ of a sea sponge, we leave, making it clear to each and every customer in the area how dissatisfied we were.

Jackie, let me "hollah" something at you and your boss: FUCK YOU.



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